The Last Word
by MadAuntieKeith
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has always prided himself on being able to keep his feelings buried- but it turns out alcohol can loosen the tongue of even the coldest men. Valentines day Sherlolly one-shot for wheretheworldscollide, containing fluffy fluff, smart/funny queen Molly and drunk texts. A winning combination! :D


**Hello again, dear Sherlollians- what a thrill to be back and writing!**

**This is my contribution to the Valentine's day Sherlolly fic-a-thon organised by the wonderful Broomclosetkink, and this fic goes out to wheretheworldscollide- surprise, my secret Sherlolly valentine! :D Hope you enjoy this- I tried to feature lots of smart/funny Molly as per your request (wasn't too difficult, the woman is fabulous!), I just hope my writing's up to scratch 'cause I felt like I was having a bit of a creativity crisis with this one!**

**Well, enjoy! :D**

**(Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine, however much I wish it were so! They still belong to Conan Doyle, Moftiss and the BBC)**

* * *

**The Last Word**

"_Again_? Didn't you learn your lesson last time?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Molly's incredulous expression. "I hardly have a choice in the matter, Molly- it's John's birthday and he wants to go out drinking, the least I can do is attempt to avoid another unfortunate outcome-"

"Like the stag night?" Molly teased, suppressing a snigger.

He glared at her. "Yes, like the stag night. So, are you going to help me or not?"

"Sorry, why do you need my help again?" she asked, flicking through the stack of documents he'd dropped in front of her. "We've already calculated all this before, can't you just re-use the same measurements?"

"If the stag night was any indication, it would seem that our original calculations were off," he said, glancing sideways at her. "Who knows how that happened…"

Molly turned to face him, crossing her arms and raising her chin. "What are you implying, Sherlock?"

He had the nerve to put on his infamous 'kicked puppy' face. "Implying? I'm not implying anything, Miss Hooper- if anything I'd say you're inferring from-"

"Sherlock," she said firmly, meeting his gaze and raising her eyebrow.

He fidgeted uncomfortably for a moment before scowling and looking down at his feet. "I'm simply suggesting that it would have been an easy enough feat for you to… _exaggerate_ the amount of alcohol I could ingest before becoming intoxicated."

It was Molly's turn to look wounded. "Honestly, Sherlock, do you really think I would stoop so low as to play such a childish trick?"

Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling the papers back into the file he'd brought with him. "No, of course not," he muttered, glancing at her over his shoulder. "In fact, I imagine the blame lies with John, he seems the type to sneak a few extra shots into our orders, I'll have to keep a closer eye on him tonight. Well, I daresay I can work out the rest on my own- good day, Molly."

"Sherlock!" she called after him. He paused on his way to the door, not turning to face her.

She smiled slightly. "Why did you come here?"

"I told you- alcohol, chemistry, avoiding hangovers-"

"_Really_, Sherlock," she said, her hand on her hip. "Why did you really come here?"

He half turned towards her, his eyes flickering from side to side as he considered the question.

Molly chuckled, turning back to her microscope and readjusting the focus. "You know, Sherlock," she said softly, her attention back on the sample in the slide. "If you want to see me you only need to say so."

She heard the swish of his coat as he once again turned his back to her, and his footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the lab.

"Have fun tonight!" she called after him, grinning.

That man was such a child sometimes.

* * *

"Never again…"

"You said that thirty seconds ago," Molly said, giggling at the consulting detective lying face down and groaning on his sofa.

He gestured impatiently with his hand and winced as the movement caused his head to throb anew. "Thirty seconds, thirty days- time is relative."

She nodded slowly, placing a cup of tea gently beside the chair where John Watson was dozing. "Fair enough. Feel free to elaborate on that when you've sobered up."

He groaned again, turning his head to the side, pressing his cheek against the couch cushion as he looked at Molly with hazy eyes and a perplexed frown. "When did you get here again?"

She gave him a sympathetic look, setting down the second cup of tea on the floor beside him within reach of his dangling hand. "Wow, you really can't handle your drink, can you? I got here last night, same time as you two- well, this morning actually, you were out quite late-"

His brows furrowed. "How did you know when we'd be back?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes and retrieving her phone from her pocket. "Because you texted me, genius. Look."

He took the phone from her and looked at it blearily, squinting against the light. Had phones always been this bright? Once he'd trained his eyes on the screen and powered through the initial burning of the light on his retinas he was greeted by a wall of texts, a one-sided conversation spanning the length of the screen and beyond. He cringed a bit with every message.

_Molly_

_Are you awake, Molly Hooper?_

_Molly Molly Molly_

_Molly I do believe I'm inebreeated _

_Ineebriatedd_

_Drunk I'm drunk_

_Drunk is not fun. People say drunk is fun, it's not_

_John's drunk too_

_I think he releases his inner homosexual tendencies when he's drunk- he's been stroking my knee all night_

_He's asleep now. On my knee_

_I'm on a cold stone step in the street. It's uncomfortable._

_I'm not sure where we are_

_I think it's a pub_

_I could be wrong though_

_No definitely a pub. A very loud bartender just shouted at us to move_

_I have to wake up John now_

_Where are you, Molly?_

Before he could read any further he felt the phone snatched out of his grasp. He blinked several times, staring blankly at his empty hand.

Molly smiled, slipping the phone back into her pocket and standing up from her crouched position beside the sofa. "I should go and help Mrs Hudson- she's cooking breakfast for you two and she shouldn't carry it all up on her own. Won't be long."

She grinned and ruffled his hair before walking out, closing the door to 221B as quietly as possible.

Sherlock stared after her for a moment before lurching upright, wincing as his pounding headache intensified. He dragged himself to his feet, trying to ignore the dizziness as he staggered across the room to his chair. His coat was draped carefully across the back- most likely Molly's doing, Mrs Hudson would have taken it downstairs to the coat rack. He fumbled in the unexpectedly deep pockets for his phone, mumbling triumphantly when he found it and flopping heavily into the chair as he once again confronted himself with a pointlessly bright screen.

It took a few moments for his clumsy fingers to open his messages. Eventually he managed to find last night's conversation with Molly and picked up from where he left off reading, his stomach sinking with each text, not aided by the fact that he could write surprisingly coherently when intoxicated- it would have been easier to ignore the messages if they were an all but indecipherable string of poorly-spelled gibberish.

_Where are you Molly?_

_Molly Molly Hooper_

_Why are you always here Molly Hooper?_

_You're not here now_

_But you are_

_You're in my mind palace_

_Please get out of my mind palace Molly Hooper_

_You're here even when you're not_

_Not fair_

_How are you here all the time?_

_You never leave_

_I don't know if I like that_

_I do_

_But I don't_

_You're here, and you won't leave_

_You make my chest feel funny_

_It's like I'm floating but I'm not floating_

_I'm sinking_

_I'm falling_

_I don't want to fall again molly hooper_

_But I am_

_Can I stop falling now?_

_When you're here everything's good_

_But I don't know why it's good_

_And when you're gone I feel_

_There's a word I'm looking for_

_Can't remember_

_Short word, use it a lot_

_!_

_Deaded_

_That's it I think_

_Deaded_

_When you're gone you leave me absolutely deaded_

_Dead dead deaded_

_Don't want to be deaded_

_Oh look you're at the end of the street_

_I don't need to feel deaded for a while_

_I'm glad you're here_

_Sorry if I throw up on you_

_Completely unintentional _

_Sorry for everything molly hooper_

_Sorry_

Sherlock felt his throat constrict and his grip on the phone tighten. He couldn't drag his eyes away from those last two texts, feeling the weight of guilt in his stomach as the events of last night flooded back to him. The memory of Molly, walking quickly through the rain with an umbrella, pulling Sherlock to his feet, smiling even though her eyes looked sad.

Somehow he always managed to hurt her.

He found himself wishing he could un-send the texts. Possibly just undo the past twenty-four hours altogether- maybe if he could have persuaded John to let them do something different for his birthday he could have avoided this whole situation.

He once again scanned the texts, wondering if he could just tell Molly he was too drunk to think and meant nothing by it.

He cursed himself as he realised that everything in his texts, however scrambled the messages were and however drunk he'd been when he'd sent them, was undeniably true.

He often noticed how alcohol loosened the lips of other people- when intoxicated a person can happily blurt out the very secrets they swore to take to the grave. Apparently he was no more immune to the coercing effects of the noxious substance than anyone other man.

The sound of Molly's feet on the stairs jolted him back to reality. He cursed under his breath, dropping the phone back into his coat guiltily. He took a deep breath, turning his head to the door as he waited for Molly to cross the threshold, resolving not to bring it up. If she could let it slide, so could he.

The door swung open quietly and Molly edged around it gingerly, carrying a tray laden with food. She smiled when she saw him sitting up, nudging the door shut behind her with her foot.

"Feeling better?" she asked brightly, setting the tray down on the table between John and Sherlock's chairs. The aroma of fresh bacon and eggs seemed to rouse the catatonic doctor from his slumber. He grunted, nodding a greeting at Molly before picking up his plate and tucking in, blinking in the early morning sunshine.

Molly chuckled at him, but decided to just let him eat without talking for a while. Clearly last night had really taken it out of him. She turned back to Sherlock, smiling and pushing his plate towards him.

"Dig in," she said, picking up the glass of orange juice she'd poured for herself and taking a sip.

Sherlock didn't even glance at the plate, his eyes fixed on the pathologist's face. She met his gaze and frowned, cocking her head to the side.

"Sherlock?" she asked softly.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, mentally kicking himself for the clumsy outburst.

She looked baffled (and more than a little shocked) by his outburst. "What for?"

"Last night," he said simply, not knowing how else to put it.

She glanced from him to his coat, realisation dawning on her face. She waved her hand dismissively, putting her glass back down on the table. "That's all right. People say silly things when they're drunk all the time."

His brow furrowed, forgetting about his headache for a second as he let her words sink in. "Did you think I was lying?" he said gently, watching her face carefully.

She frowned and shrugged. "Well, yes. You were, weren't you?"

He stared at her in confusion, searching her face for any hints that she was joking.

She knew what she meant to him, didn't she?

How could she not, he thought he'd made it quite clear- he invited her to _solve crimes_. With _fish and chips_. How much more obvious could he be?

Observing her blank expression, he came to the conclusion that she might need a little more confirmation.

He considered her for a moment, carefully planning his next move. He watched her expression and let his mind race as he considered every possible response he could give, every possible direction he could steer the conversation. It would be easy enough to just smile and start eating. She'd let the matter drop and they could carry on the same way they always did.

Something about that idea seemed unappealing. But if not that, then what else was left?

Honesty?

Who knew where that would lead them? There were too many variables, too many possible outcomes and not many of them good. Chances were if anything were to happen between them he would only end up hurting her or scaring her off completely, and he didn't relish the thought of losing her. In fact, he found it oddly hard to consider life without her.

This was exactly the sort of thing that put him off showing sentiment- quite frankly it sent his mind palace into chaos.

…Quite nice chaos, though. Perhaps there was some method in the madness?

He realised he must have been staring at her for a long time. She had starting shifting uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes flickering nervously to the side.

What was he thinking? There was absolutely no point in confronting her on this- he wouldn't even know where to begin in expressing himself.

He wasn't good with people.

He was almost considering letting it go when he found himself tentatively reaching a hand out towards her, palm up and fingers spread.

Perhaps this wasn't the time for logic.

She stared at the proffered hand, her face etched with suspicion. He sighed and waggled his fingers impatiently. Glancing up at his face and meeting his gaze, she carefully reached out her own hand and placed it on top of his, feeling his fingers close around hers.

She wasn't sure what she had been expecting- maybe a kiss on the back of her hand or just an awkward extended handshake.

She certainly wasn't expecting him to pull her out of her chair and into his with a tug so sharp and sudden it made her yelp like a startled pup. Arguably not her finest moment.

He'd been aiming for a smooth gesture- in his head her transition from her current seat to his lap was smooth and flowing and not in the least bit embarrassing. What he ended up with was a few surprised noises from Molly, a harsh scraping noise as her chair skidded backwards and an undignified gasp as she thudded heavily down onto his legs and knocked the breath out of him for a second, not helped by the fact that she also managed to elbow him in the stomach.

"Oh, Sherlock, I'm sorry- are you all right?" she asked quickly, snatching her hands away and letting them hover awkwardly by her sides, unsure of what to do and embarrassed about the deep blush colouring her cheeks.

"Fine, fine," he gasped, waving his hand indifferently and trying to ignore how empty it felt without hers. He caught his breath and raised his eyes until they met her wide brown orbs, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

Molly didn't quite know whether to feel concerned, bewildered or positively mortified. Perhaps all three? She met his opalescent gaze as confidently as possible, although the fact that she was curled up in his lap with their legs awkwardly tangled didn't help her concentration.

He cleared his throat uneasily, his eyes darting back and forth. He raised an arm slowly, wrapping it cautiously round her waist and pulling her against his chest, pressing his face against her shoulder. He felt her heart quicken and took a deep breath.

"For the record, I actually quite enjoy the way you make me feel," he said quietly, finding it easier to speak his mind when he didn't have to observe her face. "Your presence in my mind palace is… not unpleasant."

Hardly poetic, but it was something.

Molly held her breath, glancing down to where she'd unknowingly started twisting her fingers in his hair, expecting him to pull away or lash out at any second. He didn't actually seem to mind. For a few seconds that felt more like hours, they sat perfectly still and wordless like statues as the ticking of the clock on the wall resounded in the heavy silence.

Suddenly, all the pent-up air in her lungs escaped in a burst of euphoric laughter. Sherlock pulled his head away from her shoulder and looked up at her face questioningly. Despite how out of place the emotions looked on his usually stony features, Molly knew she wasn't imagining the uncertainty and apprehension she saw in his expression. "What's so funny?" he asked, sounding stung.

She hurriedly got her giggles under control, biting her lip as she took his face in her hands, tracing the lines of his cheekbones with her thumbs.

"It's just," she chortled, shaking her head and feeling like her grin would split her face in two. "The great Sherlock Holmes, enigmatic consulting detective extraordinaire…"

He watched her, his head tilted to the side. He'd made no effort to remove her hands from his face, and she felt his free hand rest lightly on her knee.

Her laughter burst forth again as she looked into his eyes, watching his usually icy gaze melting and being replaced by a look she could only describe as 'lost puppy'. "And in the end all it took for you to open up was a phone and too much booze!" Her grin turned mischievous. "Maybe I should miscalculate your alcohol limit more often."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, widening again as realisation dawned. "I _knew_-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence before Molly trapped his lips in a kiss.

He froze, the walls of his mind palace crashing down around him as the sensation shattered through his precisely constructed barriers. His meticulously arranged data scattered to the floor as the feeling of her lips seared into his mind, leaving room for nothing else.

For the first time in years, Sherlock's mind went blank.

He felt the loss as Molly pulled away, eyes he didn't remember closing springing open and staring in rapt wonder at her flushed face and parted lips.

She grinned, catching her breath. The grin became a smirk and she raised an eyebrow, noting with satisfaction the blush in his cheeks and the longing in his eyes. She lifted his hands from her waist (Sherlock didn't remember moving them there) and held his wrists, smiling playfully.

"Well, work calls," she said simply, standing up and letting go of his wrists, shoving his plate of food into his hands and feeling her heart skip as his expression once again turned to one of confusion. She leaned down and kissed his forehead, scooping up her bag, and taking a few steps backwards.

"Eat up, lose the hangover- I'll be back later," she said brightly, quietly enjoying the way his mouth opened and closed confoundedly as she backed away. She reached the door and turned, sending him small wave and a jubilant grin before sweeping out of 221B.

It felt nice to have the last word.

Sherlock Holmes was just going to have to get used to it.

* * *

Sherlock stared at the empty doorway, the food in his hands completely forgotten as he tried desperately to organise the new data, his mind working a mile a minute trying to rationalise the new sensations. He ran his tongue over his lower lip where he could still feel tingling warmth on his skin, his cheeks felt cold in the absence of her hands.

He blinked, turning his head slowly from the door and facing straight forward in his chair as his brain worked.

He came face to face with a surprised John Watson. The good doctor's eyes were wide, a fork laden with baked beans frozen halfway up to his mouth. His eyes flickered from Sherlock to the door and back again, he opened and shut his mouth a few times, searching for a place to start.

Sherlock glowered at him. "John, you might want to put that fork back on your plate now."

John shook his head, setting down the fork and the plate on the table.

Sherlock gave him a withering look. "So, any comments? Questions? I'm all ears."

John's look of confusion dissolved and his lips tilted up into a small smile. "Nope. Nothing."

The consulting detective raised an eyebrow. "That's a first. Well, if there are no objections, I need to shower."

He sprang up from his seat and swept haughtily to the bathroom, his headache once again making its presence known. John grinned, pulling out the tiny leather-bound notebook he used for their cases and turning to the well-worn page at the back. Smiling, he pencilled another line into the crowded second column.

**Sherlock** _**IIIII II**_**  
**

**Molly ** **_IIIII IIIII IIII_****  
**

Sherlock had a lot of catching up to do.

* * *

**Don't you just love it when queen Molly leaves our Sherly gasping for air? :3 I know I do! **

**Hope you liked it, my lovely Valentine! Same goes for anyone else who saw fit to read this silly little fic on this fine day- eternal love to Broomy for fixing all this up! Sorry if there were any mistakes, I don't have a beta and I'm kind of a shoddy proof-reader XD (also sorry I couldn't format the Sherlock/Molly league table properly- no strike-through on this site! Just imagine they're proper tally marks XD)  
**

**Have a fantastic day, lovelies! And if you're single and lonely and hating this horrible holiday- don't worry about it, I'm in the same boat, but we'll always have each other and our OTPs, eh? ;)**

**Forget fantastic, go ahead and have yourself a fic-tastic day! You have my undying love :3**

_**Extra side-note: I'll probably be continuing my multi-chapter Sherlolly fic soon, but at the moment my creative bursts are few and far between! I'm super grateful for all your lovely reviews of the first chapter, though- and I'm sorry I haven't been sending replies, truth is I never know how to respond to compliments! *whispers* I'm also a lazy b*tch. But don't let on! I will however make an effort to reply to you if you want to send me a PM, I'm usually up for a chat :)**_


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